I Can Reach The Stars
by WinterSky101
Summary: From the first second Jean-Jacques Leroy steps out onto the ice, he knows this is where he belongs.


**This fic is for the event JJ Style Week, for the third prompt: Childhood. Title comes from "Theme of King JJ."**

* * *

Due to Nathalie and Alain's past as Olympic ice dancers, the ice has always been something Jean-Jaques knows. He's only three, but he's seen his mother and father skate, moving fluidly and beautifully. He has no trouble believing that they won awards for this, because he's never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

But when his mother asks him if he wants to skate… Well, Jean's not sure. The ice is magical, the place where his parents make music and art with their skates, and Jean doesn't want to ruin that.

He tells his mother as much, and she smiles and kneels in front of him, her skates still on.

"Jean," she says, her gloved hands on his cold cheeks, "no matter what you do, it will be beautiful, and we will be proud."

And so Jean puts on a pair of rental skates and steps out onto the ice.

Maybe it's his parents genes. Maybe it's his point-blank refusal to fail. Maybe it's something deep in his bones that's been waiting for a chance to come out. Maybe it's something else entirely. Whatever the reason, when Jean tentatively skates forward on the ice, he knows this is where he's supposed to be. This is where he belongs, this is the place he's always been meant to find. It's a homecoming for a place he hasn't yet been.

"Mama, do you see?" Jean cries.

"I see," his mother replies, beaming. "I told you that you would be beautiful, Jean."

"Papa!" Jean cries as he catches sight of his father reentering the rink. "Papa, look!"

"I see your mother finally got you on the ice," his father says, smiling. "Should we join you?"

"Yes!" Jean cries. "I want to skate with you!"

His mother takes off her skate guards, and his father puts his skates back on, and together they step out onto the ice with Jean. They play around, his mother spinning Jean around as he giggles, and when the time finally comes that they have to leave, Jean refuses to leave the ice until he wrangles a promise out of his parents to come back the next day.

"I really liked skating, Mama," he tells his mother that night when she tucks him into bed and smooths away his bangs to kiss his forehead.

"I'm glad, honey," his mother replies. "The ice has always been there for your father and I. It'll always be there for you too."

"Just like you and Papa?"

"Just like me and Papa."

Jean snuggles into his bed and dreams of skating again.

* * *

At age seven, Jean knows he wants to be figure skater. His parents' ice dancing is beautiful, but Jean wants to skate on the ice by himself, to draw all the eyes to him so that no one can look away.

He tells his mother this while she changes his little brother Louis' diaper one afternoon, his little sister Hélène toddling around and banging on her toy piano. "Do you think I can be a figure skater, Mama?"

"I think you can do anything you set your mind to, Jean," his mother replies. "And if being a figure skater is what you want to do, then you know your father and I will support you every step of the way."

Jean goes to the rink more often now, almost daily. He begins to be cognizant of his center of gravity and the edges of his blades. At least one of his parents always goes with him, and they call out tips from the edge of the rink. Jean listens, takes in the advice, and tries to do a jump.

He manages a single toe-loop, even if he doesn't quite stick the landing. His parents applaud and Jean beams, pride suffusing every inch of his body. "I did it!" he cries.

"You sure did," his mother agrees. "You were great, honey."

Jean misses the look his parents shoot each other when he tries to do the jump again, and again, and again.

That night, after they eat dinner and Louis and Hélène go to bed, Jean's parents sit him down in the living room. "Jean," his father begins, "are you serious about wanting to skate competitively?"

Jean looks at his parents. "I'd like to," he admits. "Can I?"

"Of course you can," his mother replies. "Honey, we were thinking, if you really want this, it might be a good idea to find you a coach."

"A coach?"

"Someone to teach you how to skate and help you prepare for competitions," his father explains, as if Jean doesn't know what a coach is. He's not an idiot. He's seven years old, he knows how sports work. What he doesn't understand is why his parents think he needs a coach.

"But I thought you two were my coaches?"

Jean's parents look at each other. "Jean, we love working with you, but we're not professional coaches," his father says gently.

"And we need to take care of Louis and Hélène too," his mother adds. "Of course we'll keep working with you, but if you're serious about skating, then you should have your own coach."

Jean looks at his parents. He's serious about skating, but he's not sure what he thinks of this new idea. Still, if his parents think it's for the best, then he supposes he agrees with them.

"Alright," he says. "Where can I find a coach?"

* * *

At age thirteen, Jean-Jacques - although now he prefers to go by JJ - has gone through half a dozen coaches in half a dozen years. He's looked through all of Canada and even into the United States. He's skated alongside an American boy named Leo and under the watchful eye of an Italian coach named Celestino. And no matter where he goes, no one seems to understand him.

JJ has a _vision_. He knows how he wants to skate, knows the look he's going for. He wants to have his own JJ style, but none of his coaches seem to get that. JJ's cut ties with all of them, and now he's a season away from his Junior debut and he doesn't have anyone to coach him through it.

There's a tentative tap on JJ's bedroom door. He lifts his head up from his pillow. "Yeah?"

"JJ, can we come in, honey?" his mother calls. "Your father and I want to talk to you."

JJ pushes himself upright, because although he might be wallowing on his bed, he's not going to keep wallowing when other people can see him. "Sure," he calls, running a hand through his hair and making sure it's not flattened on one side or anything unstylish like that.

His parents enter his room slowly, his father shutting the door behind them. "Can we sit down, honey?" his mother asks.

JJ nods and his parents sit on either side of him on the bed. "JJ," his father says, "we wanted to talk to you about your Junior debut."

JJ makes a face. "How am I supposed to debut without a coach?"

"Well, that's what we wanted to talk about."

JJ scowls. He knows his parents are just trying to help, and he knows he should probably be grateful, but none of the coaches have worked, and he's tired of trying and failing over and over. "Maybe I just shouldn't be a skater," he mutters. "If I can't even get a coach to work with me, then how am I supposed to win anything?"

"Oh, JJ," his mother says sympathetically. "It took a while for your father and I to find a coach in our old ice dancing days, you know. Too many of them wanted to shape us more than we wanted to be shaped."

"Exactly!" JJ cries. "I know what I want to look like. I know how I want to skate. But all of the coaches want me to skate how _they_ think I should skate, and it's just not my style!"

"Well, we think we might have a solution for that," his father says.

"I thought we'd tried every coach in North America," JJ mutters, thinking petulantly that it's barely even an exaggeration.

JJ's parents look at each other. "JJ, your mom and I are done looking for coaches for you."

JJ's heart sinks. "So I'm done, then."

"No, honey, not at all," his mother replies. "JJ, if you're willing, we'd like to be your coaches."

JJ stares at his parents, wide-eyed. "But I thought you said you couldn't! Back when I first started looking for a coach, and-"

"That was six years ago, King," his father teases. "We had a baby and a toddler to deal with back then. But your grandparents have agreed to help out with your siblings, so your mom and I have more free time with you."

"Now, we're not singles skaters," his mother warns. "Your father and I know a lot about ice dancing, but we don't know as much about the type of skating you're doing, and we certainly don't know much about coaching. But we're willing to give it a try if you are."

"Really?" JJ asks. "And you'll let me do my JJ style? And you won't pick music I don't like, and make me do sequences I don't like, and-"

"We probably will make you do some things you don't like," his mother admits. "That's just part of having a coach. But everything we make you do, it'll be because we think it'll help. Do you trust us to help you?"

JJ looks from his mother to his father eagerly. "Yeah!" he cries. "That's _totally_ JJ style!"

* * *

When JJ takes to the ice for his Junior debut, his parents cheering for him on the side of the rink with the other coaches, he knows, with the sort of bone-deep certainty he's never felt about anything but skating, that _this_ is where he belongs.


End file.
